Puzzle
by Garnet June
Summary: Four years after his Hunger Games win, Finnick Odair is beginning to realize the price he's paying for his and his family's survival.
1. Author's Note

**Author's Note **

Hello!

This is my first attempt at Hunger Games fan fiction, or, well...any "formal" fan fiction for that matter. I love writing, I don't do enough of it, and this has been a welcome distraction from real life. Who wants to deal with student loans anyways?

When reading The Hunger Games trilogy, I was kind of disappointed in Finnick Odair's character. I loved the ridiculously angsty background that he had, but hated that he was featured for so little. I found myself contemplating his character; how got to where he did, what motivated him, how Annie crept into his life, etc.

This story came to me in flashes and out-of-order. I don't really have a defined routine when it comes to writing...I just type out whatever inspires me at the time. When I got around to editing and reworking the piece, I realized that I liked the arc of the story the way it came out. That being said, the first couple chapters bounce back and forth between a "present" story line and flashbacks. I imagine that the realization that you're body is being sold is a pretty confusing time, and that's what I want to impart. The time and setting are not labeled in the chapters for this reason, although it's spelled out within the first few paragraphs.

It goes without saying that I certainly do not own The Hunger Games and no infringement of any kind is intended. Rated M to be on the safe side for some quasi-graphic sexual situations, mild drug use, strong alcohol use, and a light dusting of profanity.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

**1**

**69****th**** Hunger Games**

**Post-Game Celebration**

He made his way around the private balcony of the ballroom as the music (if one would call it that) swelled and pulsed. There was no melody, just a beat. He could have tolerated it if it was consistent, but the pounding was out of sync; the tempo throbbing slowly and then an instant later would quickly batter away at the crowd's eardrums. Electric notes lilted out of invisible speakers, seemingly without a rhyme or reason.

He hadn't ever noticed how absurd it all sounded. For the past few years, this setting had simply consumed him. He'd been able to avoid the parties prior to these Games because of his mentoring responsibilities, but now that the 69th annual bloodbath was over and done with, he'd run out of excuses. After his last trip to the Capitol, the last place he wanted to be was in a setting like this.

A man stood at a microphone, groaning and repeating phrases. He was famous in The Capitol, but the crowd was so self-important that their attention waned. Turned away from the stage, they ground their bodies into one another, a lurid display free of humility.

Finnick leaned over the balcony, careful to stay in the shadow; his celebrity rivaled that of the moaning singer. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine a similar scene at home.

Not possible.

In District 4, celebrations were fairly frequent occurrences. Residents of 4 were proud of their District and their heritage in a way that Finnick noticed other Districts weren't. Festivities took place in the City Center and downtown on a regular basis. The Capitol allowed them these local holidays because they favored the district; 4 churned out the luscious seafood The Capitol couldn't get enough of, and provided a large percentage of career tributes for The Hunger Games.

But 4 was prehistoric by Capitol standards. Townspeople played melodies on string and brass instruments that were decades old. Dancing was that – _dancing._ Men and women paired up and moved through choreographed steps laughing and smiling.

The only smiles here were painted on and inebriated.

He sipped his drink, his lips lingering on the salted rim. On these trips, he rarely missed home since his time was split pretty evenly - Victory Tours and Hunger Games the Capitol, time off in District 4. His life at home was spent with his family and the friends that had always been there for him. His home in the Victor's Village sat on the water, a dock fingering out into the bay, a boat that would take him to neighboring islands. He never had a want for food or familiarity. And just when cabin fever developed out of that feeling of being safe and sheltered, he was whisked away to the duties that he had earned and the social events that kept him entertained.

His tongue explored the edge of the glass. The condensation mixed with saline reminded him of the ocean. A few weeks into his annual responsibilities as Victor, and he longed to be home. Finnick thought that it might have had something to do with the fact that this was the first time he officially served as one of the mentor's to his District's tributes...but a nagging feeling pulled at him. It was more than that.

"You're not going to spend all night up here, are you, Odair?" Finnick turned. "You've got a reputation to uphold, after all!" The older man winked. A Gamemaker. Finnick didn't know his name, and tonight? Didn't care to learn it.

Finnick painted on his own smile. "Nah…just observing. Picking out my prey." He said, winking back. He didn't even have to try anymore, the flirtation poured out naturally.

"That a boy!" the man replied, supplying Finnick with a hearty slap on the back. "Ready for the Victory Tour this year? I still can't believe you mentored a Victor on your first try! Only four years out of the arena…"

Finnick shrugged. If this man was an acquaintance in District 4, Finnick would have explained that mentoring was far more difficult than being a tribute; picking the right gifts, rallying the support of specific sponsors, sleeping less than the tributes themselves, monitoring a multitude of screens, and anticipating the motives of twenty-two other teenagers. Most of all, trying not to get too attached. But this guy didn't care. He just wanted to stroke Finnick's ego. "It's all about chemistry. Siobhan was a pleasure to work with." He said, soberly.

"I'll say!" The man nudged him with his elbow. "Have you had the, um, _pleasure_ of _working_ with her yet?"

Finnick laughed. "Can't say that I have..." He looked back down to the dance floor, where the 17 year old girl had just made her entrance. The crowd fluttered around her as she smiled and waved. She wasn't a knockout, but had the swimmer's body that most District 4 children inherited. Her blonde hair was cropped short, as was the hemline of her dress. With very little physical or emotional damage done to her in the arena, she was spending most of her recovery time hitting The Capitol's post-Game parties. She was devouring the lifestyle.

"The public would _love_ it! Two victors? That story would _sell_, my boy!"

Finnick sighed, shelving his emotions and contemplations of home. It was so much easier to be trivial. His chin rested on a clenched fist while he continued to stare into the crowd. "C'mon…I'm not news enough on my own?"

"You know you are! The Capitol loves you! But let's be frank, Odair. You're usually only one half of the headline-"

"True..."

"-and if the other half of the headline was another victor?"

Finnick shook his head, stepping away from the balcony. "Then, no. She's off limits." The man cocked his head quizzically. "I can't be upstaged!"

They laughed together, though Finnick's sound was short and clipped. The man paused, resting his hand on Finnick's shoulder. "I said I'd be frank with you, boy. There's no way she'd upstage _you_." He sighed, squeezing Finnick's shoulder, and then slowly grazed his fingertips down the young man's arm. "If I didn't have a wife and kids to worry about finding out, I'd be calling Snow's people about you." He tapped Finnick on the nose and turned away, calling over his shoulder. "Have fun tonight, Odair."

Furrowing his eyes in confusion, Finnick set back to his position at the balcony, watching the crowds through the shadow, trying to make light of a plethora of situations and circumstances that had happened since his win four years ago. It was like putting together a puzzle, and he didn't like the picture that the pieces were forming.

He pushed away, shook his head, and moved to the staircase. He swallowed he rest of the drink as he walked and placed the empty glass on a table.

Frivolity would be easier tonight.


	3. Chapter 2

**2**

Finnick pulled his cap lower on his forehead, keeping his gaze down at the sidewalk. The temperature was colder in The Shallows than it was downtown; the swampy habitat lead to stagnant humidity, which tended to get into the bones easier. He chewed on a strand of sea grass, which was settling his stomach after the rich breakfast he'd just had on the train home. He was still hung over from last night's sordid affair in the Capitol. His destination was the only place that would make him feel like a normal person again.

This year's Victory Tour was done. He had a few months to himself before worrying about Capitol duties again. During breakfast, he'd volunteered himself to mentor the tributes next year, figuring that with more responsibility might be a good idea. Mags seemed happy with his decision, which was important to him. _If she knew about last night.._

The sky was gray, which was precisely what he needed this morning. The atmosphere calmed his uneasy nerves, and cooler temperature kept him sedate. The moment the train hit the station, he was out. He didn't wait for his luggage, instructing his awaiting driver to take him directly home. The servant waited while he changed out of the clothing that was more suited to the Capitol and into more natural and comfortable knits, and then drove him to the outskirts of The Shallows. From there, he walked.

Coat buttoned tight and hands in his pockets to ward off the chill, he turned right down a familiar street, finding his way towards the stilted house that could have been considered his second home. He entered without knocking.

The home was sparse and small, but after his cross-country Victory Tour three years ago, he now knew how much better off he and his Districtmates had it. The building was well-insulated, raised off the ground to prevent flooding, and was appointed with indoor plumbing and electricity. Food was always in the kitchen, clothing was always in the closets. While the rooms didn't have themes or motifs, a meager but steady income kept the rooms tidy.

Finnick walked down the hallway, pausing for a moment in the doorway of one of the two bedrooms. The usual clutter was pushed to the side and covered, and the scent of fresh paint wafted out the cracked window. The couch he frequently crashed on was gone, replaced by boxes of to-be-built furniture. Shaking his head at how quickly life could change, he continued on into the living area, out the back door, across the yard, and toward the marsh. He was halfway down the dock before he was recognized.

"Capitolman!" Finnick pulled the grass out of his mouth and smiled at Ennis, his favorite cousin and best friend.

Related by their fathers, the boys had always been mistaken for each other when they were small. Both had a similar build, heavy highbrows, and giant eyes shaded by heavy lashes. As they grew, Finnick's sandy waves maintained a light hue, bleached by the sun on his father's fishing vessel. Ennis' curls darkened in the shadows of his father's stall in the marina's market, assisting in the sale of the fish his uncle and cousin caught. The families worked together, splitting the profit evenly...until Finnick had been reaped.

"How's it going?" Finnick asked.

"Same old," his cousin replied, one foot on the dock, and the other in a dingy. He lifted a net full of squirming fish out of the boat and tossed it to a young woman on the dock, who filled a large crate on wheels. "The mudskippers were crazy today...I think mating season's starting. You know all about that though, huh?" Ennis laughed.

"If I'm the kettle, you're the pot, Enn." He directed his attention to the girl. "Collee's starting to show..."

The girl stopped suddenly. "It's not a baby belly, Finnick. It's muscle from doing all of the work _you_ used to!" she replied, brushing her dirty blonde bangs out of her eyes with the back of her wrist. She had always been one of the boys, however a sense of domesticity had taken over her since her and Ennis' 'mistake'. Her light green eyes beamed at Finnick, past the dusting of freckles on her button nose.

"C'mon, Coll, I'm important! I've got places to be, people to see..." he mocked. She threw one of the large brown fish at him, which hit his neck and landed on the dock, flopping about. He kicked it with the toe of his boot back into the water. "Gross. I'm going to smell like you people now."

Collee shook another mudskipper at him. "You're lucky you're family now, or I'd toss you in the water right now." She glared with a sideways grin.

He shook his head. "So according to the paint color, it looks like your _muscle_ is going to be a boy?"

The couple grinned simultaneously and Collee giggled reflexively. "We would have called you if we had a phone..."

Finnick moved closer and gathered her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. He bent down, whispering in her ear. "Name him 'Finnick'..." She pushed away from him, continuing to laugh. Moving back to her work, she switched out the full crate for an empty one her husband handed her another net. "So, what's the plan this afternoon?"

"Market!" Ennis replied. "Gotta sell these babies before they stop jumping."

Finnick shook his head. "They'll be fine until tomorrow. Toss a bucket of water on them overnight. Let's go out."

"It's Sunday. Prime shopping day. We're going to lose a whole selling day with the Harvest Festival tomorrow." He paused, stepping onto the dock. "Come with us!"

Finnick sighed heavily and awkwardly looked skyward. He ran a hand through his hair and avoided eye contact. "C'mon..."

"Why? Is something up?"

"Nothing. I'd draw too much attention away from you guys, anyway." Finnick replied, picking up a net off the ground. He spread it out, folding it up for the couple. "I just want to get out."

"Where?"

"My boat."

Ennis and Collee looked at each other while Finnick's attention was distracted. The shared many conversations about him as of late, acknowledging that there was a kind of change coming over him. However, as much as Ennis wanted to be there for his cousin, he was saving as much money as he possible could for his impending family. "When I'm done at market..."

"I've got interviews."

"What?"

"'_Finnick Odair in his natural habitat!'_" He mocked. "It's a fluff piece. Look, I'll pay—"

"No," Ennis interrupted, "we've been over that before."

"No, shut up, I'll pay for the mudskippers." Finnick took a wad of cash out of his wallet and stuffed it in his cousin's coat pocket. "There."

"What're you going to do with two crates of mudskippers?"

"Give 'em away." He turned to Ennis' wife. "Coll! I got you a gift."

Ennis stepped between them. "Finn—"

Collee interrupted this time. She placed a hand on Ennis' back. "Go. I can sell them on my own."

Ennis turned around. "Are you sure?"

She nodded and replied quietly. "He needs you." Stepping in Finnick's view, she continued louder. "Just go, don't worry about me. People know I don't take crap when I negotiate, and I'm starting getting sympathy for this." She rubbed her stomach and smiled meagerly.

"Really?" Ennis asked.

"Yeah. Whenever you turn your back, people pay me twice what I ask. I'll probably haul in more without you there." She pushed him towards his cousin. "_Go_."

He kissed her on the top of the head. "You are a saint."

She hugged him close before whispering, "Something's up. Make sure Finn's okay. I'm worried about him."


	4. Chapter 3

**3**

"Mags, you were pretty back in your day, right?"

The older woman scowled at the back of the teen's head as she sat at the dining table. All of the glamour and pretence this boy held with the public of Panem melted around her. She was flattered by that; he was real with her, and young. Like he should be. She didn't appreciate what this atmosphere was turning him into, though she was happy to see that he was up bright and early after a long night out. "How exactly am I supposed to answer that?"

He smiled brightly back at her as he loaded up his breakfast plate. "Honestly."

"You saw the tapes…what do you think?"

He shrugged and sat across from her, the corner of his mouth turned upwards. "You were alright." She threw an empty mug at him, and he laughed, catching it in midair. "Alright, you were a knockout!"

"Better. What's it to you?"

His head bounced back and forth as he shrugged again. He looked down to his eggs, pushing them back and forth with his fork. "I dunno…how much attention did you get after your win?"

"Not as much as you."

He leaned back in his chair, arms opened wide. "Well, look at me…"

She threw her napkin at him this time. "Pompous ass!"

"Alright, Mags! I'll stop!" He giggled at her while she stared at him, her blue eyes glowing. Finnick couldn't detect whether they gleamed with sarcasm or not. "I'm sorry."

"You're full of yourself."

"I know." And he did. The Capitol brought out the worst in him.

"What's with the questions, eh?" She sipped her coffee.

His attention shifted back to his plate, and he shrugged again. "It's just…life seems kind of strange. Some stuff that's been happening lately."

"Anything in particular?"

"Something this Gamemaker said last night."

Mags looked at him suddenly. "Did he touch you?"

"….kind of."

"Where?" She was urgent.

"No! My shoulder. It wasn't anything…inappropriate."

"You sure?" She pointed her fork at him.

He wasn't. "Yeah. I mean, he said something strange." She waited for him to continue. "Something like, if he didn't have a wife and kid to worry about…."

"What?"

"I don't know, something about talking to Snow's people. I don't know what he meant."

Mags bit her lip, shaking her head. "Lecherous old men."

There it was. The conclusion he didn't want to reach. "Mags, I don't think—"

"You don't know! Don't assume."

"Don't _you_ assume!" he snapped back. Denying it was easier...he didn't want to live in a world were it was increasingly more acceptable for men his father's age to be hitting on him.

"I'm older and wiser than you. I can do whatever I want." He nodded, waiting for her to go on. Mags was his lifeline here, she kept him grounded. She seemed to be pondering something. "Should I ask where Siobhan is? Or do I not want to know?"

Change of subject. He put aside his apprehensions, because if Mags wasn't pushing the subject anymore, it didn't need his attention either. He sighed quickly, not that Siobhan was something he wanted to talk about... "Uhh.."

"Dammit, Finnick!"

"Wha?—I... Okay, _say_ I did..."

"You did."

"No, I mean, hypothetically!"

"You did."

"Mags—"

"Finnick Odair, you are a slut."

"Mags!

"Are you denying it?"

"Well..."

As if on cue, the new Victor opened the door slowly. Her hair was mussed, she sported Finnick's shirt from the night before, and was very obviously hung over. Her gaze moved slowly from the floor to the dining table. "Oh! Mags...I-I didn't think..."

"No, you didn't." Mags hadn't been a huge fan of Siobhan's, but she knew that she had always stood a better chance of winning than the other tribute they'd plucked from home. The girl that stood before her volunteered to come the Capitol, and had admitted that she wanted nothing more than to leave their homeland behind and trade it for luxury in this city. It disgusted Mags. "Go back to your room and put some clothes on!"

"Yes ma'am." She ashamedly turned and left.

"And you..." She whipped around to Finnick.

"Mags, I don't see—"

"We'll talk later."

"What?" But Mags had left the room before anything further could be asked.

Finnick sat alone at the table, his reception to her admonishment outwardly adolescent. Secretly, he welcomed it. This year was supposed to be different; he'd focus on obligations, mentor the tributes, start growing up. He felt out of control, and wasn't about to receive a lecture from his parents anytime soon. They were proud of him for surviving, thought he deserved the cushy lifestyle he was being provided, and completely clueless when it came to dealing with his creature comforts.

Mags' disposition had turned sour before she fled, and he couldn't imagine that she was that riled up about his tryst with Siobhan. Mags had to have known that this was bound to happen; she knew about his appetite for girls. He pondered, trying to ignore the growing fear that she was upset about his encounter with the Gamemaker last night.

His thoughts were interrupted as an Avox walked into the room and delivered him a note from President Coriolanus Snow.


	5. Chapter 4

**4**

"Why don't you just turn on the motor? We'd get to...wherever the hell it is we're going a lot faster if you did."

"Because, Enn," Finnick replied, his attention turning away from the sail, "that motor makes me feel like I've got no balls."

Ennis laughed. "What?"

"This boat was made for The Capitol, and those people don't know how to do shit."

"And knowing how to do shit makes you feel like a man?"

"Yes."

"Fair enough." Ennis looked off the side of the boat. "I think we're deep enough..." he said to himself. He pulled a net out of the bag he'd brought with him, stealthily dropping it into the water.

Finnick turned, two beers in his hand. "What are you doing, man?"

Ennis looked up, brushing dark curls out of his eyes. "What? We're out here...I might as well. I can take them to Coll before the market closes tonight. Ocean catches bring in a hell of a lot more than what the mudskippers do."

"You can _always_ use this boat, Ennis. I won't even judge you if you turn the motor on..."

"Thanks, but no." Ennis snorted.

Finnick sat at the edge with his cousin, handing him a drink. "What's the difference in taking her out, and fishing while you're out here with me?"

"Big difference." he replied, taking a swig, "If I came out here on my own, I'd be taking. Now? I'm just taking _advantage_ of the _opportunity_."

Finnick rolled his eyes. "Whatever..."

"What did you just say about 'no balls'?" Ennis asked, pointedly. "I just.. I've got to provide for Coll and the baby on my own. Speaking of..." He handed the wad of cash back to his cousin.

Finnick took the money and a long drink, looking out at the horizon. He didn't argue. "If you had told me five years ago that we'd be where we are right now, I wouldn't have believed you."

"You, the biggest celebrity in Panem..."

"Yup."

"...me, knocking up the girl next door."

"Nah...I would have guessed that part." Collee had indeed grown up next door to Ennis and across the street from Finnick. The boys had spent their early childhood all but ignoring her. The Odairs were better off than her family, but not by much. A lot changed when her parents scraped together enough for a fleet of crab traps and finally had something worthy to trade with the neighborhood. Addicted to the crustaceans, the boys would wait for a handout from her on the other side of the fence, but she'd already hardened to their ways, taunting them mercilessly. Collee eventually lightened up around Finnick – she took credit for honing his flirting skills – but continued to tease Ennis to no avail.

The reaping four years ago had undoubtedly changed the trio's dynamic; Finnick came home on the Capitol's train to a much different Ennis and Collee. The pair was shell-shocked by the Games and the potential loss of their best friend. Too old to be consoled like children, and too young to find comfort in romance, Finnick was told that they watched the mandatory viewings with their arms knotted around each other. When they reached dating age, Ennis took interest in a few girls here and there, but Collee waited patiently for the boy she'd always made fun of. He came around during a graduation party, under the influence of many beverages. A few weeks later, they discovered the consequences of their actions.

"You're happy with her, though." Finnick stated.

"Of course. That bun in the oven is the best worst thing that could have ever happened to me."

After a moment, Finnick asked, "Would you have gotten together with her if she hadn't gotten pregnant?"

Ennis took a drink. "Probably not." He sipped again. "Don't ever tell her I told you that, though."

"Wouldn't dare." Finnick winked and then turned his attention back to the shoreline as they drifted away. Male pride kept Ennis from admitting aloud that he couldn't imagine himself without Collee; she had tamed him in a way that he hadn't imagined would ever be possible. The two fit together like the pieces of a puzzle.

"So," Ennis started, hoping he knew his cousin well enough to navigate the conversation, "How about you? You haven't met anyone out there?"

A shrug. "Nothing to report." Ennis noticed that his cousin's demeanor had changed drastically since his last trip from The Capitol. He usually returned home a ball of energy, the effects of uppers, alcohol, and affection slowly leaving his system. He'd have stories about the various women he'd nabbed, or politicians he'd seen in precarious situations. This time he was more thoughtful, and Finnick wasn't ever known for quiet contemplation.

"Okay, but...how come _you_ don't ever worry about knocking up the gaggle of girls you've got?"

Finnick laughed quietly. "The Capitol's got everyone on a regimen. Pills in the morning, pills at night. The girls don't get pregnant until they stop taking the purple ones."

"Pills that kill babies?"

"Pills that don't make it possible...though I wouldn't put baby-killing pills past them either. They've got the luxury of deciding when they want kids, if they want them."

"Wow..." Ennis felt the net wriggling. He stood suddenly, pulling the ropes out of the water. Finnick took his place beside his cousin, the two working in practiced synchronicity. A large purple eel with a rose-colored underbelly appeared beneath the waves, and Ennis hollered with excitement. "How long has it been since we caught one of these?"

Getting a hold on either side of the net, the boys pulled it over the edge. The fish flopped about on the floorboards before Finnick stepped on it's middle and held it down. Grabbing the head and tail, he whistled. "It's gotta be thirty pounds."

"You're getting a cut of it, Finn."

"Ennis, stop with the money stuff, I—"

"No! I'm keeping the money, but you're getting a filet. Coll can't cook to save her life. You'll make dinner for us tomorrow night."

Finnick smiled. "Fair. You sure, though? You've hated eel since you were a kid."

"I do. But it gets top dollar, I figure I should give it a second chance." Finnick snorted, carrying the beast to a crate in the center of the boat. Ennis continued, wrapping up the net. "These ocean fish are all hype. You know, Coll and I found a shark washed up on shore last month? No good meat on it, but we took it to market it drum up excitement for the other stuff we had. People _flipped_ because they hadn't seen shark in months. Everyone kept talking about drought, and sediment in the water chasing the big game out to sea. Anyway, we were gonna charge twice what we normally would because of the demand."

"Look at you, Ennis! Taking _advantage_ of _opportunities_." Finnick turned and smiled at his cousin.

"Ha, funny. But, listen...this one woman from downtown, absolutely ridiculous. Hasn't bought her own food a day in her life, right? A real Capitol wanna-be, but she saw everyone else in such a tizzy that _she_ offered _three_ times what everyone else was."

"No kidding!"

"Crazy old coot. She just kept yelling, '_So_ worth the price! _**So**_ worth the price!'"

The phrase caught Finnick like a slap to the sternum. He'd heard it before. His head started spinning, and he couldn't breathe. He looked down to calm himself, and he saw the pink satin skin on belly of the eel, which seemed to trigger something else. What he wanted to assume was his hangover at grabbed him, but he knew better. It was something to do with the previous night's antics. He felt his breakfast creeping upwards into his esophagus. The sticky taste of the drink from last night coated the insides of his mouth, which was salivating profusely.

"Finnick?" Ennis was suddenly at his side, hand on his shoulder blades.

The touch awoke him, and he shook his head. "I'm fine." He swallowed hard.

Ennis' stormy blue eyes critically examined him. "You don't look fine. You're not...are you seasick?

Finnick pushed against the crate, and stood up straight. He brushed off the statement with laughter. "Me? Sea sick? C'mon. Just hung over." Ennis noticed that Finnick wasn't making eye contact. The sun was high and the shadows were hardening his face. Finnick moved away to the a cooler, grabbing another two drinks. "Head's up." He tossed the bottle to Ennis, who reacted too late. The drink fell in the ocean. "Whoops."

Ennis moved slowly to his cousin. "What's going on, Finn?"

Finnick slammed down his full bottle and ran his hands through his hair. "Nothing." He plodded to the bow of the ship. Taking his place at the wheel, he flipped the motor on and headed back to the marina.


	6. Chapter 5

**5**

The drink had taken effect.

Finnick watched the bartender make it; a rainbow of liquors mixed with carbonation, and a sprinkle of some kind of dust. He didn't ask questions – he was on a strict 'don't ask, don't tell, as long as it's legal' policy with whatever he put in his body. After one, the edges of his reality began to blur and the club tumbled back and forth gently. It reminded him of trips on his father's sailboat. It was comforting and mixed well with the champagne that filled his belly after a hefty meal at the President's Victory Tour Ball. He had spent the early half of the evening celebrating another District's win.

On his fifth drink now, the opposing beverages were battling in his body. He ignored the ill feeling, laughing as he trudged clumsily behind the group of women, two of which had a handful of his shirt in their claws. Finnick was being lead down a hall to a back room.

"Whaddo they put in here?" He asked sloppily, pointing at his drink.

"Do you _really _want to know?" the shortest girl asked.

He shook his head back and forth quickly, blinking slowly. "No. Hey! Where're we goin'?"

The woman at the front of the pack whispered to her friends, and in return they cackled loudly. Finnick couldn't make out what they were saying – he could barely focus on a single thought – but something seemed off.

This was a safe place though, and he was in area of the club that was strictly controlled. Not just anybody could walk off of the street and in here.

The woman to his right released her grip on him and stopped him with a hand across his abs. "You are sooo..." she licked the edge of his ear and moaned, causing him to stop suddenly and pin her against the wall. His movements were involuntary and instinctual. His free hand pushed her shoulder into the plaster, and his lips crushed against her.

"No!" The short girl cried, pulling on his muscular arm. He collapsed into her against the other wall, kissing the top of her head and running his free hand up the silhouette of her body. She giggled and squirmed, shoving him away.

"What? You don't wan—"

"Shhh!" she replied, jamming her finger against his lips. She smiled as her hand reached around and grabbed his gluts. "I do. Brenna gets first dibs, though..."

"K..." he said lazily, as the ear-licker pulled on him again.

"**C'**_**mon**_, bitches!" the leader called from inside a room at the end of the hall.

Why were there so many rooms in this club? It didn't make sense.

Finnick was propping himself up on a round bed before he knew it, slurping the rest of his drink down. A girl with light pink skin was jumping up and down in the corner, and he couldn't tell if it was the lights or her pigmentation that made her look so strange. She was laughing maniacally, holding a camera in her hand. "Bride's last hurrah! Bride's last hurrah!"

"Shut _up_, Kalliah!" the short girl yelled, pushing the camera out of her hand. "'No pictures', we agreed."

Finnick couldn't hold himself up anymore. He collapsed into the bed, his glass falling to the floor. "Whoops..."

He closed his eyes as he felt himself losing the battle with the spinning room. He was surprised that he blindly recognized the leader's voice over the chatter. _Was she Brenna?_ She asked the rest of the girls something about performance. "It's almost not worth it if he's passed out!"

A recognizable sensation came over him as, what he wanted to say was a familiar tongue now, grazed over his ear. Fingers nimbly unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off. She laughed. "I don't think you have to worry about performance, Bren."

He opened his eyes suddenly, his head hanging off the edge of the bed. The pink girl was upside down, grinning like a madwoman and clenching her fists together.

"What?" he asked, sitting up suddenly. "I'm fine..." He blinked, trying to grab hold his bearings.

Brenna smiled at him, and tossed her long black hair over her shoulder. "Good." She pulled off her shirt.

Finnick sat up to his knees, impulsively reaching out to her waist. He immediately probed her mouth his tongue, his hands moved to her undergarments, and he pulled her down with him. She groaned in agreement.

He heard the fanatical giggling again. "Bride's last hurrah! Bride's last hurrah!"

He penetrated Brenna hard and fast, oblivious now to their surroundings and audience. Everything else was a blur of light and sound; his focus was only on the dark haired girl. So when she spoke, it landed deep in the recesses of his memory. Not something that could be remembered in the short-term, but a phrase that would come to haunt him for years.

"_So_ worth the price."

He awoke the next morning on a train headed back to District 4. The scent of a heavy breakfast pulled him from his slumber. He moved down the train car slowly, struggling to forget the flashes from the night before.


	7. Chapter 6

**6**

The floral scent was surprising to Finnick in a building that was appointed with such masculinity. He stepped carefully down the marble hall, past two guards that nodded their heads in recognition, and into the private chamber of President Snow.

The first thing that caught Finnick's eye was his own face. It was projected onto a television that ate up half of the wall. Finnick watched himself wink, then dive into the bay, surfacing and continuing his banter with the reporter. The image froze, rewound, and played back from the wink again.

"You really know how to lay it on thick, don't you?" Finnick gasped quietly to himself, not realizing that the President was sitting on a sofa behind him. As he turned, Snow gestured to the opposite end of the furniture. "Come, sit."

He obeyed, too petrified to do anything else. Should he greet the man? Ask why he'd been summoned? "Thank you, Mr. President." were the only words that escaped his lips.

"Please," the man replied, leaning back into the seat and turning the volume down on the broadcast. "Coriolanus." Finnick could only nod, too uncomfortable to call the man by name. "You're probably wondering why you're here, aren't you?"

Finnick recalled a time that he and Ennis had been called into the principal's office while in grade school. He couldn't help but draw parallels. "Yes, sir."

The night before raced through his mind. There really were no rules about relations between mentor and tribute, especially those with such little age difference. He'd only flirted with her harmlessly prior to the Games to ease her anxiety; last night was the first time he'd been physical with her. Besides, everything that occurred happened behind closed doors.

Or was this about that chat with the Gamemaker?

Snow's gaze moved up and down the young man before he spoke in a very measured tone. "I merely want to get to know you better." Finnick nodded slowly and without emotion. "There's really no need to be so frightened!" Snow expressed as he laughed to himself.

Finnick offered a small smile. "Alright." An unfounded fear of the President being able to read his mind crossed Finnick's thoughts. Should he bring up last night, or wait for the President to do so?

Snow continued before Finnick had another chance to speak. "Few tributes ever survive, and even fewer Victors are able to celebrate their win like Panem has allowed you." He allowed a pregnant pause. "Mr. Odair, your celebrity is rather intoxicating. You have sustained that youthful presence and are growing into a charismatic young man." He waited for a response from his visitor.

Embarrassed, Finnick only shrugged. "I guess so..." _Maybe this isn't about Siobhan..._

"I know so! Did you see the second half of this piece?" He gestured to the screen, in which girls screamed and chanted his name outside of his Capitol residence.

Finnick struggled to remember if there was anything incriminating about the interview. "Yeah, but I mean...this isn't a news story. It's just...fluff."

Snow shook his head gravely. "No. Never underestimate the power of media, Finnick. You are more than a sensation or a...trend. You are a beacon for the people of this country. They need you. They have expectations that you've risen to without any guidance. Your trajectory is a marvel, really. It's citizens like you that I'm proud to serve, my boy."

"Uhhh...the pleasure is all mine." The pleasantry sounded like an appropriate response.

Snow stood suddenly, facing away. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Finnick, because I need you."

The young man was alarmed by the tone that the President spoke to him in. "Is everything alright?"

Snow turned and nodded, but his face was grave. "It will be. Have you heard about the conditions of the Districts?"

"No, sir."

Snow went on to explain that a long hot summer caused droughts in most of the districts, killing crops in 11, causing deforestation in 5, and stirring up bouts of malnutrition cross-country. "You wouldn't have heard anything about it in 4, you see, because of the blessing of location. Your people have the ocean, although portions of the shoreline became quite murky." Finnick suddenly remembered Ennis' story about the shark.

The drought was followed by heavy rains that caused minor flooding in some areas, but was taken care of and cleaned up quickly. Snow explained that even though the tortures of Mother Nature were behind them, morale was down and the population was restless. "But when they have you to think on, Finnick, or to gossip about...it makes dealing with the frustrations and reality of life a little less difficult. You, Mr. Odair, are like a cool drink of water on one of those sweltering, drought-ridden days."

Finnick was humbled. He looked down at his hands, which were clammy and wrung together. Looking up, his mouth was caught between a grimace and a smile. "Really?"

"Really!" Snow sat back down on the sofa, closer this time. "Polls have been taken; you are present in the hearts and minds of schoolgirls and housewives, teenagers and the elderly. The ladies want you, boys want to be you, mothers pray for a son-in-law of your caliber, old men and women see you as a reflection of what they once were. Had you not realized this?"

Finnick ran his hand through his hair and sat forward, resting on his knees. "No...I, uhh..wow. Really?"

Snow simply nodded as a small smile formed across his thin lips.

"But I don't even... Sir, I don't _do_ anything." Finnick referred to the fact that post-Games, he'd never proclaimed a talent like other Victors. He interviewed plenty, and was undoubtedly the most photographed citizen in Panem. Without declaration, his talent had been chosen for him – sociality.

Snow shrugged, his hands turning upwards. "I don't pretend to know the power of media." he unconvincingly replied.

"Huh." Finnick continued looking down at the ground, until something flashed in his memory. "You said you needed me for something?"

Snow nodded and grinned. Finnick was too astounded and taken aback to notice the flash of triumph in the old man's eyes. "Finnick, I need you to keep doing what you're doing."

"What's that?" Finnick asked, perplexed.

"Play the heartthrob."

"Just keep doing what I'm doing?"

"Correct."

"That's, uh...easy enough." Finnick replied, testing a weak joke on the President.

Snow laughed quickly. "Exactly. The _only_ difference is that I will be appointing you a media relations escort. She'll be in touch with you shortly on this." Snow handed Finnick a box. Opening it, he found a wide band that would sit flush on his wrist. "Go ahead, put it on!"

Finnick slid the device on his left wrist, igniting a display across the top. It began to glow and beep. "A communicuff?" Snow nodded. "Wow..."

"Your guide's name is Toile. She'll be monitoring the news for you, keeping you up to date, deciding which events would best benefit from your attendance. Finnick?"

The sound of his name pulled his attention from the gadget on his arm. "Yeah?'

"There's one last matter." Finnick nodded, waiting for the point. "Certain citizens have taken an interest in you."

Finnick's eyebrows knotted slightly in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"That you're popular!" Snow brushed off the boy's perplexity. "Nothing to worry about. You may occasionally be set up with a lady or two for dinner. Simply for the press." His last word hung in the air.

"Oh." Finnick nodded slowly and looked back down at the communicuff. A straight line of black zeros blinked at him, requesting that he set the date. The digits were harsh against the stark white display. He stared at it, distracting himself from the moment that seemed palpable with meaning that he couldn't comprehend. "That's fine." He replied, not understanding why his instinct told him to answer differently. His fingernail pressed a small button on the side of the device, calming the frenetic flashing. "I mean..." he paused, looking back up. "...as long as they're beautiful." He winked.

Snow exhaled, letting go of breath he didn't know he was holding. "Fantastic. Would you expect anything less?"

The two laughed, and Finnick was dismissed from the room shortly thereafter, excited about his gift, relieved that the meeting was about nothing more than his popularity, and all but ignoring the indeterminable foreboding feeling

Snow took a seat at the large desk of his office, leaning back slowly. He couldn't be prouder that the discussion had gone as perfectly as it did. He pressed a button in the seat.

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"Could you please send out the invitations now, Ms. Wood?"

"Yes, sir."

"The timing is absolutely critical, Ms. Wood. They need to be sent immediately."

"Already done, Mr. President."

He turned to the window, which provided a gorgeous view of the surrounding city. "Excellent."


End file.
